Resident Evil Survivor the Novelisation
by BiscuitDude
Summary: Can an amnesiac pilot survive and uncover the terrible secrets of Sheena Island?
1. Crash Landing

**Ch. I  
**

**Crash Landing  
**

* * *

September 28, 1998: a midwestern town in America, Raccoon City was decimated by the outbreak of the Umbrella-manufactured T-Virus. The city became a warzone, embattled between the bio-organic weapons and its citizens. Before the situation got severely out of hand, the United States government wiped the city off the map. Thousands of innocent people died at the hands of Umbrella Incorporated; however, substantial evidence to expose the company was necessary. Cover-ups were put in place, hard evidence went missing and for a short time the company was in the clear. Despite Umbrella's best efforts, rumours sprouted of trouble brewing on an island in the Mediterranean, Sheena Island. An island owned and controlled by Umbrella, the 'Second Raccoon City.'

* * *

November 22, 1998…

Moans and groans of deteriorated human mass filled the night sky. Amber chars punctuated the midnight feast of teeth against raw flesh. The shuffles of a zombie march echoed down the streets and cobbled paths of Sheena Island. Overhead the distinct sound of a helicopter rotor could be heard, salvation to one man. Flying above the madness, one could easily see the predicament faced by any unfortunate to be trapped below. Nowhere was safe in the winding web of streets and back alleys. Infestations of shambling corpses, skinless sickle-tongued creatures and decomposing Dobermans. Hell on earth, all over again.

"You're not getting away!" A man dangled from the landing gear of the helicopter. One hand was firmly gripping a Glock, the other tightly fastened to the helicopter. The pilot, unaware of the hitchhiker, continued casually controlling the craft to safety. The passenger pulled himself up and wrapped his left arm around one of the helicopter's legs. "You're not getting away!" he yelled again, aiming at the helicopter's fuel tank.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for the pilot. He could not hear the man's rants below; the rotors were making too much noise. However, a sudden explosion and loss of control startled him. The controls failed to respond, and he lost altitude. The helicopter swayed in the night sky like a kite.

Frantically trying to regain control of the now wily chopper the pilot cried out, "Shit!" Below the leech began to lose his grip. The jerky motions and swaying weakened him and his hands uncoupled from the chopper's feet. He dropped the gun as the helicopter began to steadily approach the ground, but a sudden lurch flung the man into the sky.

He cried aloud as he plummeted to the ground, crashing into a back alley. The aerial acrobatics produced by the chopper could no longer be tamed. Complete control had been lost but the pilot refused to give up.

"Come on, fly!" He yelled in vain as the helicopter came crashing into the ground with its fuel tank completely alight. A blunt blow to the head dazed the pilot. Metal twisted and snapped as the helicopter burst through the corner stones of a building roof and wedged itself between a tall fence and the brickwork, softening the crash marginally. Heat started to build up in the pilot's cab as fire spread from the fuel tank to the nose of the helicopter.

Fortunately the pilot managed to hurl himself from the burning wreckage. He collapsed onto the muddy ground, crawling slowly away from the crash. Motor functions gradually returned to the stricken pilot and he lifted himself to his feet. His legs trembled and shook as he tried to stand upright, for a moment he could've fallen over again. The pilot blankly surveyed the area: a small grassy area in the dead of night, the helicopter wreckage ablaze behind him. A sense of unfamiliarity lingered in his mind.

"Whe-where am I?" The pilot clutched his head and groaned in pain. It throbbed with the worst migraine ever. Something was not right, something unsettling. He tried recalling his past, his memories, anything. A shot in the dark, blankness, emptiness, there was nothing…

"I-I can't," he groaned, "Who am I?" He tried to remember simple things. His name, anything, some shred of identity. Rifling through his jacket and trouser pockets yielded no results; there was nothing but a single ink ribbon. He tossed it into the muck in frustration. Amnesia had stricken this man of twenty-something. There is no worse handicap...he read about it, but never imagined it would happen.

The man boldly stumbled forward, his legs cooperating with his commands. With every step he got stronger until he developed a functional rhythm. He would at least assess his surroundings, understand where he was. Perhaps someone here knew his name. Leaving the wreckage behind, the mystery man ventured out of the grassy patch and into the next alleyway.

A cobbled path stretched before him. Someone was slumped on the floor a few yards ahead of him. It didn't appear to be moving. Slowly, the pilot approached before he stood above the body. It was a man; he wore a distinct white uniform emblazoned with an umbrella symbol on the sleeve. Something stirred around in the pilot's brain; there was something about this body.

"What? Where have I seen that before?" The logo, the uniform, and his face; youthful and full of spite, with his golden hair combed back. "You look familiar but, I just can't remember." The pilot scratched his skull again and crouched down at the body. A gun lay beside him and a card stuck out of his pocket.

Pinching it slowly, the pilot gently removed the card from the jacket pocket of the body. It appeared to be an ID card of sorts, but burn scars on the card made it difficult to distinguish the photograph. However the name 'Ark Thompson' was clearly visible.

"Ark Thompson?" the pilot quizzed. The name sounded familiar to him, like something he should know. Who was this Ark Thompson?

"Why does that sound familiar?" A supressed shuffling sound approached but the pilot did not hear it at first, "You look so familiar." The shuffling changed to a hasty grind of boots dragging against paving stones. It got closer. "How did he die anyway?" The loud scuffing was now right behind him. Alert, the pilot reached out, grabbing the gun before turning his head sharply. Ahead of him with outstretched arms was a disfigured, lopsided figure. Blood oozed from the mouth and there were bite marks all over, its skin a sickly pale discolouration. It snarled.

"What the!?" the pilot yelled as he got to his feet, aiming the handgun towards the shambling creature. It didn't respond to the pilot's outburst and approached in its repetitive manner. The arms still outstretched ready to grab its next feast. Backing away, still aiming at the figure, the pilot began to panic.

"Stay back!" he yelled at the humanoid. There was no response, the creature moaned and groaned continually as it approached.

Instinctively the pilot fired off a round from the gun. It burst from the barrel and hit the creature's flesh, barely unbalancing it. The pilot panicked. It was impossible for anything to just shrug off a wound like that.

After squeezing the trigger several more times the creature began to jostle to the impact of the small nine millimetre bullets. It groaned and moaned as more lead impacted its flesh. One final round ruptured the shambling beast's forehead which made it stop instantly. It groaned loudly and collapsed face first to the ground. The creature was dead. He approached the motionless corpse slowly, anticipating that this was some kind of ruse. Not a single sound, no movement of any kind; it was definitely dead.

Even still, the pilot poked the bloodied corpse with the barrel of his gun, "The hell is this? What's going on here?" Distant groaning caught him by surprise. Fear was a more predominant emotion though. "There can't seriously be more of these." Not prepared to take any chances, he darted towards the nearest door he could find. His body whacked against a steel gate, as he tried desperately to get through. As time passed the sounds got closer and closer.

"Fuck this!" He took the gun and shot the lock off the gate. He shielded his eyes from the sparks and flashes of the muzzle. The busted lock echoed on the cobble path as it fell. The gate swung open easily and he slammed it behind him, bashing it against the metal frame. It would no longer close and the sounds continued to approach. Panicking more, the pilot bolted, hoping to increase the distance between him and the rapidly approaching horde of beasts.

In his desperation the pilot failed to acknowledge the sparse group of monsters ahead of him. They hadn't seen him and the alley now split two ways. One led to the group ahead, the other lead to the entrance of a building, or the back entrance. Any option away from the creatures was as good as any so he chose the doorway. Fortunately it was unlocked and the man stepped inside. He calmly closed the door behind him so as not to draw any attention. For the moment he was safe…

* * *

**Author Notes: This is something I've not done before but I felt the compulsion to do so. Resident Evil Survivor is regarded as _the_ worst game in the franchise, despite this, I actually like it. It has that great B-Movie vibe that I enjoy, not to mention the story is actually canonical and has some grim themes (if you have the patience to read through the games files). Going on the success of the Resident Evil REmake, I wanted to give Survivor similar treatment. **

**Of course, there are a few things I have to take into account, for one Survivor had branching paths, to address this I've taken the most significant parts of the game and combined them into a cohesive story. This is to allow every character in the game to make an appearance. Also, this is a game from 2000, it has some horrible dialogue [much worse than a typical RE game - fact!]. I must find ways to address this while still following the story of the original source, there will still be cheesy dialogue I'm sure.**


	2. Coming to a Cinema Near You

**Ch. II**

**Coming to a Cinema Near You  
**

* * *

Momentary respite as the man caught his breath back. He knew all too well that the creatures would catch his scent eventually. Rather than lingering, he explored the building he had entered. He found himself inside a dim corridor leading to a foyer, tastefully upholstered and lit appropriately. Signs hung over a counter, displaying times and a title beside them, none that he'd ever heard of.

This was a cinema. The distinct smell of popcorn and confections was masked by hints of rotting flesh. No corpses were visible. But there surely was one, perfectly mobile, not far off. The pilot could hear the muffled shuffling. Perhaps it was coming from outside, he could still hear the wailing, deceased horde beyond the solid cinema walls.

He gripped the gun tightly. "There must be somebody still alive," he whispered. Stairs led up to a second floor. The eerie ambience of the cinema continued unsettling the amnesia-stricken pilot. He could remember trivial things, such as using a firearm. However, the important information regarding his identity was lost, hopefully not forever.

Climbing up the stairs, he came upon a corridor that ran the perimeter of the building. There were windows lined along the wall. Crows cawed in the nightly abyss. They were extremely close, a never-ending choir of cawing. Even the groaning of the monsters was drowned out by the terrible shrieks. He aimed at the nearest window and shimmied his way along the far wall, half expecting something to burst through.

His motions gradually accelerated, until he finally took his back from the wall and steadily walked down the corridor. The crows repeated their deathly chant as the man continued unopposed into the next room.

Darkness filled the room. A continuous click could be heard in the shroud, the sound of a rolling film. He could barely make out a large projector stood in the centre of the room. One of the reels was still spinning. A roll of film had finished and it was smacking against the frame of the projector. Lights steadily turned on as the man flicked a nearby switch. Next he approached the projector, scanning the room with his handgun ready.

A doorway led into an adjacent room. The man took a glance around, the projector still clicking. It was a small office-like room, mostly compacted by several lockers beside the door frame. The desk closest to him was strewn with odd bits of paperwork. A series of slides and sheets caught the man's attention, images of monstrous creatures and a city in flames.

* * *

**_Slide: Raccoon City  
"After the Destruction" Report_**

**_Date: August 5, 1998  
Report from the U.B.C.S. 'Supervisor.'  
Part 1_**

**_The biohazard that occurred on May 11th at Lord Spencer's mansion and bio-chemical laboratory ended on July 25th when members of the S.T.A.R.S. teams destroyed the entire facility._**

**_As of 8/5/98, there are no signs of viral leakage in the surrounding area. However, we must continue to monitor the area with extreme caution._**

**_Our secret operative Albert Wesker is M.I.A. and presumed dead. However, we have just received information that Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield are preparing to report the incident to the press and their police chief._**

**_I request that this matter be addressed with the utmost urgency._**

**_U.B.C.S. Sergeant  
Nicholai Ginovaef_**

**_=o=o=o=_**

**_Date: September 30, 1998  
Report from the U.B.C.S. 'Supervisor.'  
Part 2_**

**_At this moment, I am in the clock tower situated above Raccoon City._**

**_The city is overrun with zombies. It is safe to say that Raccoon City has been completely destroyed due to the biohazard._**

**_This situation is different from the accidental biohazard in the mansion. We suspect that it was intentionally caused by one of our company's researchers, Dr. William Birkin, the creator of both the T-virus and G-virus._**

**_I have researched both biohazard incidents, and noticed that two issues need to be addressed immediately._**

**_The security of the viruses stored in our worldwide facilities must be improved. Also, we need to re-educate our workers. Biological weapons viruses will surely become our primary product, so they should be handled as such._**

**_All personnel should take extreme care not to allow any more biohazards to happen._**

**_U.B.C.S. Sergeant  
Nicholai Ginovaef_**

**_=o=o=o=_**

**_Date: October 6, 1998_**

**_We've had extreme difficulties collecting the sample data for T-virus contamination and tactical data regarding the bio-organic weapons._**

**_The new B.O.W. we call "Nemesis" was more ferocious and intelligent than we had expected. As a result, many U.B.C.S. members sent to the area have been sacrificed in the process of collecting combat data._**

**_I expect the researchers to analyse the combat data and use it to develop an even more evolved, ultimate B.O.W._**

**_U.B.C.S. Sergeant  
Nicholai Ginovaef_**

* * *

Underneath was a wound reel, most likely a film to accompany the report. The man didn't know what to make of the sheets before him. Yet, it all seemed oddly familiar. 'Raccoon City,' he recognised that name from somewhere. Intrigued, he took the reel into the other room and replaced the old reel with the new before flicking the projector into life.

A beam of light burst from it. Images projected onto the screen inside the next room. The film depicted a city ablaze. Civilians and soldiers were being butchered by monsters and grotesque beings. The camerawork was far from professional, more like something from an amateur home movie. Despite this, the man was too enthralled to criticise. Everything was chaos, utter madness. _What kind of cinema would be showing this?!_ he thought to himself.

Flashes in his cerebellum made him remember the Raccoon City incident and all the news surrounding it. He had never gone there himself, but the man had reason to believe that with what was happening here was in relation to Raccoon City.

The light from the projector unveiled several creatures shambling around in the screening room, all in civilian garments. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind. One of the shambling corpses had snuck up on him and was ready to tear a chunk of flesh out.

He cried out in surprise, desperately trying to shrug the creature off. It moaned and groaned as it continually tried to latch its teeth onto his skin. Finally, he managed to pivot his elbow round and knock the beast's skull with enough force to release it. He spun swiftly and shot a few holes in the creature's torso causing it to collapse backwards and slump against the wall. Blood drained out of the bullet holes and down the ex-human's shirt. Another umbrella logo was visible beneath the crimson tint.

"I keep seeing this symbol. Does Umbrella run this place?" he thought aloud. Umbrella's a pharmaceutical giant; he could remember that much now. Small things were gradually worming their way into his memories. However, he was still unaware of his affiliation with this venue. He only just realised that his green jacket bore the same symbol. Perhaps he worked here?

Ultimately, he decided to check out the screening room. Perhaps there was something in there that could be of use. Back out in the corridor, something had changed. Crows ceased cawing. The man failed to acknowledge this and blindly strolled down the corridor. A crash and the windows smashed one after the other. Loud shrieks of crows filled the corridor. He ducked; the deafening cawing pierced his ears. They moved so fast, like ink splashed on a canvas. Even the confines of the narrow corridor didn't handicap the winged terrors. One tried to peck at his hair. Sharp pain as strands got ripped from his head. He flailed his arms to discourage the crow and cried aloud.

"Get off, get off!" He charged down the corridor, still ducking and the crows kept pecking. A sliver of flesh got pecked from the man's hand. It stung. Before he got back to the stairs the crows had managed to shred parts of his jacket.

He tumbled down the stairs and the crows gave up, circling the foyer ceiling before perching on the stair rails. Others sat above on an overhanging chandelier. Like a group of mocking kids, they cawed at him, taunting him. He just stared up at the horrible birds.

"Fucking crows," he sneered. Aching was felt all over his body. Groaning, he got to his feet, brushed himself down and assessed the damage. Save for a few shreds in his jacket, a nick on his hand and a few missing hairs, he was fine. Perhaps a few bruises too for his tumble down the stairs.

He kept a close eye on the winged foes as he made his way into the screening room. The seating was stepped, providing a perfect view for everyone. If only the viewing pleasure was not the displeasure of citizens being slaughtered by repulsive creatures.

The shambling menaces that occupied the area had dispersed. Two were way up the seating; another was closer, near a corpse slumped under the illuminated screen.

He took aim at the creature's head and gently squeezed the trigger, expertly dispatching the creature with a single shot. Now the gun's frame was stuck in the firing position. It had no more bullets. Unless the corpse had some ammunition, he wasn't going to last long with an empty chamber.

He darted straight to the corpse; it was a guard of sorts. Another uniform bearing the Umbrella logo, bite marks on the suit with blood stains and the person's throat had been torn out. A glistening object lay just beside the deceased. It was a key; a small tag attached read: 'Cinema Door Keys.'

Just his luck, he could now at least leave the building. Before dismissing the corpse for good, he rifled through the guard's pockets. Among some personal effects, there were also two magazines for a Glock pistol. An emptied gun lay on the ground beneath the guard; he must've panicked and got surrounded by these creatures and then ran out of bullets. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance.

The two creatures that were still in the screening room steadily made their way towards the man. However, he was aware of the danger. Before they could even get within metres of him he was out the door and into the foyer again.

Those crows still mocked him from above. Perhaps they knew he was going to fail and rather than put the effort into killing him themselves they let something else do it for them. Just like a vulture would.

"Fucking crows," he repeated and unlocked the cinema doors with his newly acquired key. The door swung open and the street came into view. He took a moment to smack one of the magazines into his gun. Across the road stood a restaurant, a few vehicles parked further down and outstretched darkness down the other. A mock barrier was set up that clearly hadn't held. Two cars and vast amounts of junk were strewn along the sidewalk where the relentless horde had torn through.

The distant echo of groans returned. However, something else startled him; a low, vicious growl came from nearby. There, charging towards him, was a hound. Rotted flesh dangled from its extremities and large bite marks indicated that this thing was attacked. He gasped as the dog, just feet away from him, leapt up to attack.

Leaning back, he just managed to dodge the aerial Doberman. It landed perfectly and banked round to try and attack him again. He tried to shoot the canine, but he couldn't anticipate the fluctuating movements. Every shot hit the cobble streets. Then the inevitable happened; the dog pounced. However, he managed to react and fired a round right between the eyes, causing it to collapse mid-flight. It hit his feet as it came crashing down.

This scenario had begun to draw a crowd. Further down the road a small group of zombies were heading towards him.

"Shit, not again," he said, making his way into the restaurant. He hoped to avoid the zombies again by hiding in the building. This time however the restaurant was not as secure as the cinema. Large glass windows meant that one would only need a second's glance inside and see him. So he would sit out of view and remain quiet hoping that the creatures would go by, ignoring him altogether. He rushed by dining tables and behind the counter out of view. Here he would wait until the horde had passed…

* * *

**Note: B.O.W - Bio-Organic Weapon  
**


	3. Let's Eat (You)!

**Ch. III**

**Let's Eat (You)!  
**

* * *

The mystery man had been hidden for a few minutes now. In that time he had acquainted himself with a new dead corpse. It was the corpse of the restaurant owner, he had been writing in his journal prior to his demise.

* * *

_**Restaurant Owner's Journal **_

_**October 4, 1998 **_

_**I heard an incredible story. **_

_**A small town in America, Raccoon City, was destroyed last week. They said that all the residents turned into zombies, and the city is now ruins. **_

_**Umbrella Inc. is rumoured to be behind the incident, but I don't know the details. Although the incident occurred far from here, across the sea, I can't help but feel anxiety if Umbrella is truly behind it. **_

_**I sure hope that this city will be okay... **_

_**~o~O~o~**_

_**October 6, 1998 **_

_**I heard another interesting story. This one is about William Birkin, who supposedly destroyed Raccoon City. **_

_**He was the creator of the virus called T, or G, or whatever. He tried to use the virus for his own purposes. Unbelievable as it may seem, he injected the virus into his own body and turned into a monster. **_

_**Also, the virus leaked into the sewer and it is rumoured that rats spread the virus around the entire city. I know the commander can be cold, but I hope he doesn't get any ideas.**_

_**~o~O~o~**_

_**October 8, 1998 **_

_**What should I do? One of the workers who came here for lunch mentioned that the T-virus IS on the island. He said that there's no possibility that an accident could occur here in this city, but... I'm not so sure. **_

_**I decided to work for Umbrella because of the money. But now I've grown tired of opening my restaurant for only Umbrella workers. **_

_**There is nothing new or interesting left for me in this town. **_

_**I must get out of here before it's too late...**_

_**~o~O~o~**_

_**October 11, 1998**_

_**There have been more rumours surrounding the commander…**_

_**Disgusting rumours, most of them are surrounding the children that arrive on the boats.**_

_**I refuse to believe them, but now he's preventing anyone from leaving. I swear he's getting paranoid. The reverend, who regularly meets with him, says it's a matter of security. **_

_**It's not really my business; I need find a way off this island.**_

_**~o~O~o~**_

_**November 9, 1998 **_

_**I decided to visit old Andy today. Says he finally met Commander Vincent.**_

_**I don't know anyone here who hasn't met him already. But Andy's been here for years, working those sewers day in and out, surprised he hasn't lost it. Rumour has it he was ex-military, keeps a stash of old weapons somewhere, but nobody knows where. **_

_**If worse comes to worse, I'm sure he can help me.**_

_**~o~O~o~**_

_**November 22, 1998**_

_**There are monsters roaming the streets! **_

_**I tried reaching Andy but I'm getting no response. I hope he calls soon. **_

_**The commander has something to do with this, I just know it! **_

_**I should've left when I had the chance…**_

_**(The rest is stained in blood…)**_

* * *

"Fortunate for some, friend," he said quietly, placing the journal back onto the corpse. At least the owner had been released of any burden. The amnesiac would not allow the monsters the satisfaction of feasting on his corpse, he would be free.

A sudden thud rattled one of the restaurant windows. He refused to peer over the counter. There was a zombie at the window and he knew it. If it saw him, then surely every monster out there would be on him. '_Only fitting zombies would come to feast at a restaurant._'

He couldn't help but snigger at the misfortune, "Dinner time boys?" By now the thumping stopped. He slowly peered around the counter, trying his best to remain out of sight. From one of the tall glass windows there was one of them, shambling away from the restaurant.

He gave a relieved sigh, "Phew!" and rested the barrel of his gun against his forehead. Remaining silent, he got to his feet and opted to briefly explore the restaurant kitchen. There was one large metal door. A window looking in was covered in ice. Stupidly, the man tried opening the door. It was freezing cold to the touch. He tried so hard not to yell from the sheer chill of it, sounded like he was choking or being strangled.

He shook his hand and sucked his fingers, trying to warm them up. This time, he pulled his jacket sleeve down to cover his hand and fingers. Now when he touched the solid, cold handle of the freezer door it didn't freeze his bones. A slight chill was still present, it crept up his sleeve. As the door opened an icy mist seeped out.

The amnesiac gasped as a body slumped through the gap and collapsed on the ground. There was something different about this body though. Even though it was frozen, it was not a zombie.

There were no tell-tale signs indicating such. No pale white eyes, the skin showed no signs of bite wounds or any injuries. She was still human! Why would she lock herself inside the freezer? She must've known that she'd be trapped inside, unless someone locked her in there?

Her skin was extremely pale. Ice latched to her face and garments, adorned with yet another Umbrella logo. She wasn't a guard and didn't look like restaurant staff. Most likely, she was a customer here.

"Poor girl," he said quietly, "Guess these people were getting really desperate." He rifled through the woman's pockets, trying to find anything that could help him. She didn't have any ammunition for a firearm, nor did she have any keys. The amnesiac was beginning to feel undignified because of his corpse scavenging, but he had no choice, it was survival or death. He only managed to find a fuel lighter. It didn't work.

He took it anyway. '_Just in case_,' he thought to himself. Beside the hanging chunks of cow and pig bellies, there was nothing inside the freezer. He heartlessly dragged the frozen carcass back into the freezer and shut the door behind him. She was dead anyway. He did it more to keep her corpse from becoming a zombie's buffet. Whether or not the zombies would eat a frozen corpse he didn't know, but he couldn't bear the thought if they did.

He began walking away to investigate the other rooms when suddenly a loud ringing filled the room. It was a telephone. It was coming from all over the restaurant. One set of ringing came from behind him in an office, another from the waiter's pedestal at the front. He dashed out into the restaurant dining room towards the front door. Two thoughts rushed through his mind as he approached. Firstly, someone else was trying to contact survivors and secondly, if the ringing continued, it would bring every zombie in the town down on the restaurant.

However, he tried to reach the phone so quickly that he stumbled over a dining chair and crashed to the ground. It stunned him momentarily and he got back to his feet quickly.

Finally he reached the pedestal and answered the phone; "Hello?" There was no reply. "Hello?! HELLO?!" he yelled down the receiver. Again, no response, then the dial tone followed. He was too slow; whoever was trying to contact the restaurant had hung up.

This was the least of his concerns now though. His sudden outburst and activity had attracted quite a crowd. Through the windows a large group of undead approached the glass. The first in line began pounding on the glazing. Those that followed had arms outstretched waiting for their next meal ticket.

"Shit," he said and quickly backed away from the glass. But as he got deeper into the restaurant the glass began to crack. The sheer force and numbers meant that they would be through any moment. Fight or flight? There were way too many for him and his gun to handle. Since they had all congregated out the front, there was no way he'd be getting out that way. However, he recalled the telephone that rang in the back. He made a dash for the counter. A loud smash and shards of glass crumbled to the ground followed by trampling undead. They were now inside. At first only a few got inside, a couple more followed by half a dozen, before long the whole stretch of glass panes were replaced by zombies. Each approached the counter, chasing this single meal down. He would have no time to escape if he didn't do something. Perhaps he could open the freezer and hope that some went after that girl's corpse? All this gas cooking equipment, maybe he could start a fire?

He made mad dash around the gas stoves and switched each onto max setting. Loud orchestrated hissing filled the room but now the zombies were getting closer. He strayed by the counter and one tried to grab his arm. Quickly, he shot the beast in the head, keeping it at bay for good. Switching on the remaining hobs, he managed to encircle the kitchen and into the back corridor. He hung around for a second to take aim at the nearest gas cooker.

The hissing continued, by now most of the kitchen area was filled with gas. At least the first group of zombies would be caught in the blast. The rest would most likely burn. Hopefully he wouldn't singe his eyebrows in the process or worse. Once a reasonable group had finished clambering over the counter he squeezed the trigger.

The first hob lit up in a blazing glory. Quickly he turned the corner and bolted to the back door, it lead into an office. Not the escape he hoped for. An earth shaking explosion followed. The entire building shook as the kitchen went up. It was now completely ablaze. The first group of zombies were charred to a crisp.

However, the remaining group continued. More queued up through the shattered windows, following the horde in. Those inside were burning, but this just seemed to be a minor inconvenience as they marched on.

The amnesiac first noted the phone on the office desk. That was where the other ringing had come from. But he had no time to dwell on it. There were two windows leading out. Sudden thudding against the door drew his attention.

"Great, these guys don't know when to quit," he said nervously. A large couch beside the door was all he could find within reach and time. He gave it a great heave until it blocked the door. It splintered from a sudden charge. One flaming arm broke into the office. Behind the dense group, the fire was raging out of control. Gas canisters stored in the kitchen became unsettled and began exploding. Time was running out. He took a quick glance out the window to note where he'd be. The back route led to a canal of sorts. Lights on a high wall opposite reflected on the aqua. Typically the window was locked and he had no time to unlock it.

The zombies were getting in, one slid through a hole and collapsed on the couch. It snarled loudly at the man as he charged towards the window. He plunged himself through the glass and it shattered outwards. An even louder explosion than before followed. The restaurant and most of those inside were blown clear or into smaller pieces. All the gas canisters had ruptured at the same time, taking most of the building with it.

The man gasped for air. "Damn!" he exclaimed in disbelief. A pathway nearby looked a suitable beaching point. He dragged himself out of the water and onto the cobbled walkway. Fortunately, there were no beasts present, so he had a moment to rest. His clothes were wet and the cold November night air began to chill his bones. He shivered.

Then a ringing could be heard, piercing the night shroud like a beacon. It wasn't a telephone like before. It was the bell of a nearby church. The man followed the canal path for a while before he could take steps back onto the street. Down the road stood a church, it was neither big nor grand, but the bell, that bell seemed to make it grander. It was a beacon of hope. There were no signs of modernisation; it was likely the oldest building in the city, possibly predating it all together.

Regardless, someone had to be inside ringing the bell. No creatures occupied the nearby streets. Most of them were probably caught in that explosion anyway. So the mystery man managed to calmly approach the church. He was now before the grand doors.

Taking his fist, he pounded hard on the oak doors and called out, "Hello?! Anyone in there?" He pressed his ear against the wood, trying to hear inside. The ringing stopped a short while ago, so whoever was inside would've heard him.

Sounds of someone removing a barrier could be heard then the door slowly opened. Nobody greeted him so he just stepped inside and closed the large doors behind him. A loud clunk followed, as a wooden plank slammed down across the door, barring the entrance.

"Greetings child," said an elderly voice…


	4. Godforsaken

**Ch. IV**

**Godforsaken  
**

* * *

"Greetings child," said an elderly voice. The amnesiac immediately turned to see an elderly gentlemen stood before an altar. He wore the garments typical to a member of the church, black robes covering his body and a white sash strewn over his shoulders. His silver hair was ruffled but he appeared calm. This was surprising, considering the fact that everyone else seemed to be dead.

Yet again there was another Umbrella logo, this time stencilled above the altar behind the reverend.

"Do not be alarmed, I mean you no harm," the reverend said waving his finger towards the man. He had his hand placed on his Glock firmly.

"Sorry," he replied, exhaling deeply with relief, "Just, I didn't expect to find anyone alive round here. Was that you ringing the bell?"

"Of course."

"Is there anybody else here?"

"No, you're the first I've seen all day."

"What's going on around here?"

The reverend paused a moment before speaking, "I don't know, but I fear this is the end of our little community."

"Community?"

"Sheena Island, my child, this is the home of Umbrella Inc. We are all a part of the same family here. Why all the questions? What is bothering you?"

The man almost forgot to ask, "This might seem like a strange question, but do you know me?" The reverend mused for a second, but did not answer.

The man began the long walk towards the altar. He continued his questioning, "I lost my memory; I can't remember who I am."

"That's unfortunate. I'm sorry, but I cannot help you, in due time your memory will return I'm sure." The reverend turned his back, looking towards the altar.

"Time is kind of against me here," he replied, "Is there any way I can find out who I am?" He took the last steps up to the altar. Now he stood beside the reverend, he looked back at this mystery man, noting the Umbrella logo on his jacket.

"There are employee files at the Umbrella headquarters." He began to walk away.

"Where's that?"

"It's quite a way, in the city center, beyond the prison. Go out onto any street, any alley and you'll see it, towering above us. The streets are not safe. There's more out there than just those corpses skulking about," the reverend said opening a side door.

"What do you mean?" the man asked.

"I apologise, but you must leave. This place may be safe for now, but I fear soon it will not." With that the reverend disappeared out of view, locking the door behind him.

"The Umbrella HQ," the amnesiac groaned, "It's more than I had a minute ago. I guess that's where I'm headed next." With all the running he'd been doing, he did not have a chance to simply glance into the distance and marvel at the tower. He knew that by going out the front door he would be heading back towards the waterfront. So instead he opened a door on the opposite wall of the grand hall.

A steady ticking filled the room and wooden floorboards creaked under his boots. There were no monsters here. Windows were bordered up with remains of benches. A typewriter sat beside a chest and tall, disorganised stacks of books lay around the study. A book shelf lined with volumes of random tales and hardbacks, and then there was the old grandfather clock ticking away. The winder looked worn and antiquated. This was as good a moment as any for the pilot to recuperate and assess himself.

Barely a scratch, even though his hand stopped hurting, it still bore an awful nick left by the crow. His clothes were damp, but anything was better than nothing. The Glock was still functional and there was a spare magazine in his pocket.

The moments rest was most welcome. He kept hoping it would remain. However, if the reverend's words rung true, then this church would surely fall. At least he now knew there was someone else alive. Though he couldn't shake the feeling there was something very wrong with the elderly man. Underneath that calm exterior something was brooding. He answered most of the questions, yet he dodged the most important one.

Then the ticking stopped. It was obvious in the small study. Almost like the harmony of the room depended upon the continuous ticking of the old grandfather clock. He approached the clock. Strangely the winder seemed to turn by itself, yet the clock had stopped. He tapped the clock face with his finger just in case it was a slight blip.

"Broken," he stated, so he tried to wind the clock himself to get it going again. It was old and extremely difficult to turn. He strained himself trying to turn the winder until it seemed to come off. It didn't snap off, it just came off. The shape of the winder remained intact and a hexagonal head was too.

Then the clock began to move. It creaked and slid aside, grinding along the wooden floorboards and a hidden track. A large vertical compartment was secluded behind. Inside, the man found a loaded shotgun.

_Whoa_, the man thought as he grasped the shotgun's barrel. It was in perfect condition and showed signs that it was well looked after. His attention then turned back to the strange clock winder.

It was bizarre that the mechanism didn't seem traditional. Most likely, it was made for a specific purpose.

A sudden scream filled the church. The man charged back into the altar room and readied his new weapon. The screaming continued in intermittent bursts. He steadily approached the far door. Eventually the screaming subsided. The man's boots echoed along the marble floor, then muffled on the carpet stretched from door to altar.

He reached the door and began placing his hand onto the handle. The reverend had locked the door behind him. So he took the sole of his boot to the lock and kicked it hard. After a few attempts the door began to shift inwards, away from him. The screaming had stopped completely by now. All he could hear was his boots pounding against the door.

The lock finally gave way and the door swung open slightly. He readied his shotgun again and aimed into the next chamber. Gently, he pushed the door open with the extended barrel. It led into a corridor towards the back of the church. Only two doors occupied the expanse, one halfway down the corridor and another at the very end.

A disturbing muffled crunching could be heard beyond the nearest wall. The man braced himself and took a deep breath, shotgun still aimed ahead. Placing his hand gently onto the door handle, he turned it slowly and pushed the door forward. The crunching was now amplified as the man stepped into the room. A desk was to his left, sitting undisturbed and a desk lamp illuminating the well-crafted wooden furniture.

The crunching now came from behind him; he turned sharply and gasped in horror. A skinless creature with large, muscular limbs and deadly talons lay atop a fresh corpse, the remains of the reverend. His face bore a pained expression, clearly illustrating the feelings of his last moments.

The beast turned to the green-jacketed man, his sight solely focused down the barrel of the shotgun. An exposed brain and fangs drenched with blood distinguished the creature from the regular undead. Then, a low growl emanated from is maw and a sickle tongue lanced from within. It whipped the man's face. Despite the leathery texture of the tongue, it was launched with such force that it stung viciously. He staggered backwards towards the desk and took aim quickly. He fired a shot, but the creature moved too quickly.

It was now latched to the ceiling, inversely staring at the man with what little vision it had, for it had none. He had made such a racket that the creature firmly knew where the man was. It honed in on every little sound he made. The bashing of his feet against wood, the gunfire, even the slightest tap was like beacon to this creature.

However, the creature had no regard to how much damage a 12-gauge shell could deliver. The man squeezed the trigger again and buckshot flew from the muzzle, shredding the creature's exposed organ. The forehead shattered and brain matter splattered onto the ground and the creature tumbled with.

The man began to pant. He was never going to get more than a moment's peace on this island. True to the reverend's words, there were more dangerous creatures crawling around. A myriad of questions kept circling his head. What exactly was going on here? The reverend wasn't forthcoming about it. How would he know anyway? And where were these creatures coming from?

He knew at the very least Umbrella was heavily involved. Every part of this town was covered by Umbrella. Anywhere he went there would be something dedicated to Umbrella, like a twisted religious community.

His attention turned to the desk behind him and a lone sheet of paper, apparently torn from a diary. A pen lay next to it. He pulled the paper into the light and read it.

* * *

_**Torn Diary Page**_

_**October 7, 1998 **_

_**Today, the leaders of the each section of the city, including myself, attended a meeting with the commander. **_

_**The briefing was on the destruction of Raccoon City. During the conference, everyone placed blame on William Birkin. He betrayed the company and wanted to keep the G-virus for himself. **_

_**The commander told us that if there is a traitor like Birkin in this city, we should execute him immediately and without question. **_

_**I wholeheartedly agree with the commander's orders. This city is as vital to Umbrella as that laboratory in Raccoon City was. **_

_**No... It is actually much more important. **_

_**We must not allow a biohazard to happen in this city. We cannot let Umbrella's efforts to construct these billion-dollar facilities go to waste. We should keep a closer eye on the behaviour of personnel**_ _**in the future.**_

_**To address this, I had hidden security cameras installed to closely monitor my subjects. I've also tapped the confessions booth with recorders and have kept all my findings on paper stored away safely. If any spies are among my flock, then I'll be the first to know.**_

* * *

The man was disturbed suddenly by the ringing of a telephone. One was sat on the desk, it droned away consistently with no fault.

He didn't hesitate and picked up the receiver, only to be bombarded by an immediate response, "Reverend! Thank god you're alive! It's Andy, listen I need your help…" it was a grizzled voice. Aged and laced with experience.

"I'm not the reverend," the man replied. There was sudden silence; he couldn't even hear Andy on the opposite end.

"V- Vincent?!"

"What did you call me?" the man responded.

"Vincent! What the fuck have you done?!" Andy fumed.

"I didn't do anything. He was dead already…"

"Liar! You murdering bastard! Don't think you'll get away with this!"

"Wait! What are you talking about?" Vincent demanded, "Hello? HELLO?!" The dial tone followed after. He now had a name. Vincent. However, there seemed to be something more. Something he did here. His attention returned to the torn sheet, there was a passage scribbled on the bottom of the page. Judging by the ink stains, it was written recently.

* * *

_**I failed. **_

_**Not just Umbrella or the commander. I failed everyone. I should've been more aware…the only thing left is to kill that man and deliver myself to redemption.**_

* * *

"The reverend knew more than he let on. But…what did I do?" Vincent pondered for a moment, the damn amnesia continued to block his thoughts. Somewhere in there was the truth. "This 'Andy' seems to know who I am. I'll find him first, and then investigate the Umbrella HQ."

Vincent cast his eyes over the reverend's remains. His robes were now torn and stained with claret where the beast had ripped through his torso.

Then his attention was drawn to a grandfather clock, not unlike the one in the other room. If anything, it's location in this room mirrored the other. Vincent steadily approached it and noted the details and manufacturing hallmarks, everything was identical to the other clock. The same mechanism was present, that same indentation.

He placed the winder firmly into the socket; it fit perfectly, and turned it. The grandfather clock sprung into life and chimed past the hour. When it had finished, it too slid aside, revealing yet another secluded compartment.

However, there was nothing but ash and some more ammunition. Among the ash were vague remains of paper. One shred seemed to be part of a transcript. Most likely this was where the reverend kept his paper records for his findings. Either he purposely burned them, or someone else didn't want to get found out.

Vincent was getting tired of the lack of answers. He swiftly left the reverends body to rot. Out in the corridor, Vincent made his way to the furthest door, which led out the back of the church.

It was still dark outside, by now it had gone midnight and the never-ending chorus of undead droned on through the night.

Vincent made paces beyond the diminutive cemetery and out onto the streets again. A different sound rumbled not too far off. It wasn't a creature. A sound that he was much more acquainted with: helicopter rotors.

A flock of helicopters flew overhead, at least a dozen or more. Each split into groups, some headed in the direction of the waterfront whilst others flew inland. A trio of helicopters however hovered a few blocks ahead. They lingered a few feet above a large building complex. At first glance Vincent thought it might be a facility of importance to Umbrella, nothing worth his time. But something caught his eye in the distance. A small figure emerged from between a few buildings before heading down the street towards the complex. Vincent didn't hesitate, he ran towards the complex in pursuit of the figure. However, he failed to notice the number of well-armed mercenaries, rappelling from the helicopters above and into the complex below.

* * *

**Author's Notes: The reverend is not actually shown in the original game. He is only hinted at via the diary you find in the church. It implies he's an important figure on the island as one of the city's primary leaders, and I tried to reinforce this by introducing him and have the other character's mention him/contact him to demonstrate his authority better. I also did so to give our hero, shall we say, vague direction. Since in the game you just follow a linear path of corridors, which is all well and good in a game, but a story needs direction to work. Killing him off soon is the nature of Resident Evil, not only did he not disclose enough information, he also lied to the pilot, so it seemed fitting for him to die and introduce a new monster (or two, so to speak).**


	5. Wanna Play?

**Ch. V**

**Wanna Play?  
**

* * *

"Hmm, you think you can escape?" Elsewhere, someone was carefully monitoring Vincent as he entered the large complex. "You will regret everything you've done once you see what I've got in store for you." With the flick of a switch a nearby facility begins to function for the first time on 23rd November. A containment cell unlocks and from beyond the darkness, with large ground shuddering boots, a large figure departs, its destination: the entertainment complex.

However the rapidly approaching sound of helicopter rotors catches his attention and suddenly he's on edge.

"Dammit, they didn't waste any time getting here." The individual scrounges together his minimal effects and begins to depart the security console. "Umbrella must want this mess dealt with swiftly."

* * *

Meanwhile, overhead in one of the helicopters, a special operative laden head to toe in fatigues barks out orders over a radio.

"Alright people. I want a clean sweep! No evidence must remain. B.O.W.s, civilians are all expendable," he took a moment's pause before concluding; "Vincent Goldman is the primary target. Orders are to terminate…"

* * *

"Well, this is different," Vincent smirked as he surveyed the foyer of the complex. The main facilities consisted of arcades and video stores. Quickly, his random examination shifted to two nearby corpses, both riddled with bullet holes.

No accuracy in the shots, most likely from a fully automatic weapon. But the creatures were well and truly dead. Off in the distance bursts of gunfire could be heard, ringing through the foyer. Squeals and groans of defeat accompanied the string of shots. They were the final cries of monsters.

Vincent had to be swift. He held the shotgun barrel firmly and ran to the far end of the foyer. The odd shambling corpse still remained, but Vincent didn't lock horns with them. Those present were too far away to be a threat and he had no intention on staying longer than required. He would find the source of the gun shots and seek out the small figure that ran in here.

Vincent covered a majority of the first floor by the time he heard more gunfire, this time it was very close. From the apex of the corridor flashes punctuated a rotted corpse jostling in the muzzle light. Two undead corpses collapsed into view from the corridor.

Vincent held his shotgun ready and approached the corner. Slowly, he peeked round the corner and down the corridor, walking away from him, was two men. Both were laden in special operative fatigues and gasmasks, armed with machine pistols.

From this distance, Vincent could hear incoherent chatter between the two. The gasmask muffled their voices beyond recognition to any within two feet of them. If Vincent were to eavesdrop on their conversation he would need to get much closer.

"Hey!" One manages to yell clearly as he notices Vincent's eyes poking round. Rapid footsteps followed and Vincent fled.

"Stop right there!" the other yelled. He aimed his firearm and opened fire upon Vincent. The range and recoil worked in Vincent's favour as he got out of harm's way into the next available room. Now he found himself in an arcade office. A small den for the manager possibly, a glass barrier divided the office from the main arcade room. Various machines lined the walls and pillars. Games of Pac-Man, Pong and a few obscure titles of note illuminated the electronic terminals.

Vincent had minimal time to dawdle; the mercenaries would be inside any moment now. Sure enough, one barges through the door way and the second follows.

"Stay where you are!" one yells aiming his machine pistol.

Vincent ceases to move. He was too close to dodge gunfire. In this confined space, he'd be dead within seconds.

"Never thought you'd still be here," the other mercenary says, slowly approaching. Then a sudden, loud, deafening gunshot pierces the arcade jingles. One of the men drops dead instantly as a shot to the head ruptures his dark matter. The other follows immediately as he tries to react. A gunman from outside breached a single window and killed them both.

Vincent, now crouching, approached the window, hesitant to find out who had saved him. He peered out. Beyond the canal stood a large building, a steeple, dwarfed the arcade complex. It wasn't the Umbrella headquarters, it was similar to the church, but it wasn't. The design seemed more contemporary to a place of education.

"Die Vincent!" yelled a man from afar. A gunshot followed and ricocheted off the window frame as Vincent tucked his head back inside. The voice was instantly recognisable.

"Andy," Vincent said to himself. A second gunshot followed in quick succession, impacting the floor just ahead of Vincent. Nothing happened after that. Vincent remained hunkered down below the window frame for a few minutes before getting to his feet and making his way out into the arcade.

All the machines were still live, jingling away in orchestrated fashion. Vincent navigated the maze of machines round until he found his way back into the foyer. There he caught another glimpse of the diminutive figure. This time he had a better view, it was a child, no older than seven or eight years old. The child's back was turned to Vincent and made their way into a club at the other end of the foyer.

"Wait!" Vincent yelled as he gave chase. 'Heaven's Night' was stencilled above the door and Vincent barged through the door. A sombre ambience was ever present in normally bustling club. There was no heavy droning beats or bass notes. Just an eerie monotonous feedback coming from the main stage speakers hummed over the air waves.

_Where did they go?_ Vincent thought to himself. A sudden jostle from behind the bar shocked him as a bottle fell from the organised shelf and smashed on the floor. Bottles continued to rattle as something continued shaking the bar.

Vincent approached and peeked over the bar. A loud high pitched scream erupted from a young girl behind the counter. Vincent covered his ears in surprise at how sharp the scream was. The girl ran down the length of the counter and emerged from behind it, heading for the back door.

"Wait!" Vincent yelled again. However, the girl didn't continue to run. She was stood frozen as a masked figure emerged from behind the door, machine pistol in hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said menacingly. The distortion of his voice terrified the little girl. She shrieked loudly again.

"Keep away from her," Vincent cried out, drawing his Glock on the mercenary. This surprised him and he looked up at Vincent.

"You!" he managed to respond before Vincent placed a neat shot through his gas mask. He fell backwards with a monstrous groan of defeat. She remained stone petrified before the corpse as Vincent approached her slowly. The little girl was whimpering quietly. Vincent couldn't imagine how long this girl had been surviving.

"You're okay now," Vincent said gently as he approached her, "Everything's fine now."

"No it's not," she replied feebly.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you. What's your name?"

She turned round to face Vincent. "Li- Lily," she answered still scared and shaking.

"Lily, I'm…" Vincent paused a moment, quickly, he thought what if this little girl knew he was a murderer. He tried to think of another name to introduce him as. "I'm Ark." The name on the card he found on the dead body earlier. "What are you doing here? It's very dangerous here."

"There he is!" A group of mercenaries had burst onto the dance floor from the foyer and were now aiming their weapons at Vincent and Lily.

"Run, Lily!" Vincent ordered. She vanished into the backrooms through the rear door. A volley of gunfire followed as the mercenaries simultaneously fired upon Vincent. He quickly dove into cover behind the counter. Gunfire rattled the bar and rounds shattered glass bottles lined along the shelves above. Shards of glass and alcohol rained down onto Vincent, he shielded his eyes the best he could.

"Cease Fire! Cease Fire!" one of the mercenaries yelled. The sound of magazines hitting the ground and being replaced with new ones followed. Vincent took this opportunity to take a pot-shot at one of them. He popped up from the counter and fired a quick shot from his pistol at one. One staggered from the impact and groaned as he gripped his bicep tight.

"Return fire," the mercenary cried out, and the volley resumed. More shards rained down and Vincent continued to get drenched in vodka, whiskey and the like. Then suddenly their fire was diverted. Now their combat chatter was drawn to something else that had appeared in the room.

"Tyrant!" one yelled. Vincent emerged from hiding to see a gigantic, pale faced, trench coated figure. In one hand the figure had gripped one of the mercenaries by the head and proceeded to crush his skull within a vice-like grip.

The mercenary wailed in agony as his skull was being compacted by the walking bulldozer. Every shot seemed to merely inconvenience the brute. Low grunts of pain acknowledge d the beast could be hurt, but it barely reacted otherwise. It steadily approached each mercenary one by one and swung its mighty fist, knocking each and every one to the floor.

The one in his hand had now stopped wailing and was tossed aside. His head was completely crushed beneath the sheer force of the creature's grasp. Next, it stomped the mercenaries into the ground with its pounding boots.

Vincent didn't wait around to be next so he snuck out back way slowly behind the counter. However, the Tyrant still noticed him escaping and once it had done with the mercenaries it soon followed after. Vincent had to find Lily; he would never allow her to die.

"Lily!" Vincent yelled every so often, trying to entice her out of hiding. He had been scouring the staff corridors for a brief time, checking a few rooms, some into other parts of the complex; others were just rooms for the staff. Vincent did manage to scrounge a sling off a dead mercenary so he could properly carry more equipment as the night surged on.

He kept his shotgun close in case the Tyrant showed up. There was no more gunfire coming from the complex, so Vincent presumed that the Tyrant had eliminated the remaining mercenaries.

"Lily," Vincent repeated, he didn't shout, it was more remorseful. Shame that he couldn't find the young girl anywhere, he had been in this complex for almost an hour, if not more. Lily was either no longer here, or worse. Vincent's train of thought was disrupted by a sudden crash in front of him. The wall burst like a pin to a balloon, through the dust the distinguishable tall figure ploughed through the cloud.

"Oh shit," Vincent said as the Tyrant slowly approached him. Shots aimed at the towering figure did nothing, as it shielded his face with a forearm. The coat absorbed every shell. Vincent couldn't afford to waste ammunition on this beast and he witnessed first-hand what happens when you fail to better it. Vincent fled. But the Tyrant gave chase. Instead of laboriously trundling towards Vincent, it built momentum and charged. Even when Vincent deviated into stores the Tyrant just barged through each wall.

_It's not going to stop_, Vincent thought to himself as he kept retreating from the rapidly approaching juggernaut. Finally the pair made it out into the foyer. No compact corridors, and plenty of space to manoeuvre, Vincent readied his shotgun and opened fire. Rather than shooting the creature's head all the time he occasionally shot at the monster's jacket.

It wasn't completely bullet proof, as the shrapnel shredded through the material after a few placed rounds. The head was naturally the weak point, but the Tyrant instinctively protected it, regardless of how much damage inflicted on its arms.

The bout began to aggravate the Tyrant and soon it was trying to charge at Vincent and bulldoze him to pieces. However, Vincent didn't account for what the Tyrant was doing next. In the centre of the foyer was a hefty kiosk. Not mobile, a solid structure weighing a couple tons at least. The Tyrant, with all its might pried the kiosk from its foundations and began to launch it at Vincent.

Vincent watched on in awe. "That can't be good," he said noticing the rapidly approaching structure. Vincent narrowly avoided certain death as the kiosk impacted and masonry exploded in all directions, smashing windows and denting fragile furnishings.

The action of removing the kiosk had revealed a gas main however, and the Tyrant was standing right above it. Vincent grinned and aimed at the exposed main, the gas seeping up the Tyrant's trench coat.

"Barbecue time 'Trenchy!'" Vincent squeezed the trigger and sparks around the mains ignited the gas. The Tyrant was engulfed in a fiery blaze and immediately moved away from the flaming spout. Its body was completely engulfed in flames and the total accumulation of pain caused the creature to slowly collapse to its knees then flat onto its front. Fire sprinklers activated from the blaze and doused both the Tyrant and the spout launching from the centre of the foyer. Vincent stood over the Tyrant's singed body; it wasn't going to get back up. At least, he hoped it wouldn't. Oddly it carried some ammunition, for what purpose, Vincent didn't know, but he wasn't about to complain.

He took a second to scan the water drenched foyer for any activity, but there was none.

"LILY?!" Vincent yelled out one last time. There was still nothing. Beyond the foyer skylight, in the distance, Vincent could distinguish the tower where Andy had shot from earlier. Perhaps, if he were willing, could explain what Vincent had done. Perhaps even Lily had taken shelter with him. Despite being reluctant to leave the complex, Vincent sought an exit to reach the steepled building.

After a few minutes under the shower of sprinklers, the Tyrant began to reanimate. First the fingers twitched and then the giant began to lift itself back to its feet. The knees and then the feet followed. With unwavering persistence, it trundled off in the direction Vincent had vanished…


End file.
